


Here I Go Again

by Heather_Night



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Emissary Stiles Stilinski, Hurt Stiles, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, POV Derek, POV Stiles, Scott is a Good Friend, Shipwrecks, Spark Stiles Stilinski
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-13
Updated: 2017-12-13
Packaged: 2019-02-14 03:11:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12998589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Heather_Night/pseuds/Heather_Night
Summary: Stiles wanted a warm shower, hot food and a comfortable bed, in that order.  What he didn’t want was increasingly choppier waves smacking him in the face but that was his fate.





	Here I Go Again

**Author's Note:**

> Here's another offering for the multi-fandom Hurt/Comfort Bingo Challenge and I'm writing exclusively in the Teen Wolf fandom yet again. I don't think there's anything potentially offensive in this one--it's all good, clean (and wet) fun--but if I've missed a tagging opportunity please let me know.

Stiles would’ve rolled his eyes if the rain hadn’t been blowing into his face, making it difficult to even hold his eyes open.

The villain—this time someone Stiles had never laid eyes upon but still seemed hell-bent on monologuing despite the weather conditions—waved around some sort of gun with what seemed like darts as ammo.

Stiles looked around; he was the only one in the vicinity on this god-forsaken boat so the villain’s performance was a bit wasted on him. Where the hell was Scott, True Alpha extraordinaire?

A movement out of the corner of his eye drew Stiles’s attention.

Derek Hale. Stiles would recognize those broad shoulders anywhere.

The werewolf sprinted across the slick surface and planted himself firmly between Stiles and the current monster-of-the-week.

Said monster, a monster of the human variety according to Stiles’s spidey senses, didn’t like that and his trigger finger loosed a dart.

Derek staggered and collapsed to the deck.

As if on cue, a bright light exploded from the sky.

Something ignited behind the villain.

Stiles reached down and snagged Derek under the arms, hauling him toward the railing. Away from the violent human and the fire. The villain was distracted, what with the flames shooting into the sky.

A lifeboat would’ve been nice but of course Stiles’s luck sucked. A life preserver would have to do. He snatched it up and threw it overboard. Wrestling a non-responsive werewolf over the railing and making sure he cleared the lower deck was going to deplete all of Stiles’s reserves.

“Hold your breath, buddy. I’ll find you as soon as I can.” With a mighty shove, Stiles sent Derek tumbling over the edge. He peered over, squinting, and saw the man, ass over teakettle, belly flop into the water.

Stiles’s would’ve scored it 10 out of 10 in a belly flop competition but he was busy making sure the trigger-happy dude was elsewhere occupied.

Heat blasted toward him and Stiles performed a western roll over the bar. He’d always been a Fosbury Flop kind of guy—and wouldn’t Coach be pleased that he remembered his track high jump moves—but time was of the essence and—

He hit the water at an awkward angle. Unfortunately he didn’t have time to catch his breath, or do anything, because he needed to find the alpha before he turned into shark kibble at the bottom of the ocean.

Stiles bobbed to the surface and surveyed his surroundings. The boat was in flames and Stiles hoped Scotty made it off okay. There was, predictably, no werewolf in sight.

Of course not since that would’ve been too easy.

With a deep breath Stiles did a dolphin-dive. He called upon his limited powers to cast light and yep, there he was. Derek Hale was lazily sinking deeper into the water about ten feet in front of Stiles.

Once Stiles had the werewolf secured in his arms, he kicked and kicked and kicked, and where the hell was the surface? Finally! They burst upward and Stiles gulped huge lungfuls of oxygen. “Hang in there, Derek.”

Stiles side-stroked, werewolf tucked against his side, chin above water, until they reached the life preserver. If the light of the flaming boat hadn’t illuminated the area, Stiles would’ve never found the device. His magical tank was dry and there was no way he’d have been able to conjure a flicker of light, not in his current condition.

It took energy Stiles didn’t have to wrangle the dead weight—well, not exactly dead because he could feel the guy’s respirations—but finally the alpha was as secure as Stiles could make him.

One final look around convinced Stiles they couldn’t stay in the area. The boat was listing to the side and he didn’t want them to get sucked under with it if it sank below the surface.

Stiles wanted a warm shower, hot food and a comfortable bed, in that order. What he didn’t want was increasingly choppier waves smacking him in the face but that was his fate.

Hands on the life preserver, Stiles pushed it in front of him while he practiced his flutter kick.

He didn’t know where he was going, hell, he didn’t really know where he’d been on this so-called luxury cruise as he hadn’t been paying close attention. 

Wait, those words were familiar but they weren’t quite right. 

_I don't know where I'm going  
But, I sure know where I've been_

Kick. Kick.

_Hanging on to promises  
In songs of yesterday_

Kick. Kick.

Gasp.

_An' I've made up my mind,  
I ain't wasting no more time_

Kick. Kick.

Sputter.

_But, here I go again  
Here I go again_

Stiles hummed and sang to himself as he slowly pushed the werewolf in front of him. He needed something to distract himself from the misery he was experiencing and he’d like to think his mother, queen of 80’s pop rock, would be proud he was using White Snake to serve that purpose.

A larger wave then he was expecting washed over them both and Stiles paused to readjust his passenger. “Hang in there, big guy.” He patted the alpha’s shoulder clumsily before he resumed his efforts.

-0-

Derek came to with the sun high in the sky and his jeans sticking to his legs uncomfortably. Why the hell was he wet?

Water. More accurately waves. He was half in the water and half out. Sand stuck to his cheek but he was able to lift his arm and brush some of it off.

Finally, the paralysis had worn off. He couldn’t describe how frustrating it had been to be at the mercy of someone bent on chugging through a whole repertoire of corny 80’s music. Of course Derek didn’t want to admit that he actually recognized the whole, sorry catalog of songs.

He dropped his arm and his hand landed on something soft and silky. Shading his eyes with his other hand he tipped his chin down and saw someone sprawled across his chest.

His savior.

His taste in music was suspect but at least he hadn’t let Derek drown. “Hey, time to wake up there _buddy_.”

During the rescue he’d been called big guy and buddy but he’d craved the occasional Derek from the husky voice next to his ear. 

Derek had finally recognized the voice of the person talking to him as Stiles Stilinski. He wanted to tell Stiles—what kind of name was that even?—to shut the fuck up but even his vocal cords had been paralyzed.

The whole outing had been ill advised and Derek didn’t know why he’d let Isaac, Boyd and Erica talk him into making the trip.

Oh yeah, he was in need of an emissary and talk around the other packs had been that there just so happened to be one available and he was shopping around for a pack that fit. This emissary was supposed to be on the cruise, waiting to be wooed.

Of course Derek never did make the acquaintance of an emissary. No, he’d sort of made friends with Scott McCall, the alpha from Derek’s old territory but the sarcastic, skinny human attached at the other man’s hip had ruined that experience.

That didn’t help Derek with his current problem, namely a wet human draped across his chest. Derek slid his hands down to the guy’s shoulders and shook him. “Hey, Stiles, wake the fuck up.” 

The guy was oblivious to Derek’s actions, and words, so he tumbled the body off of his chest. Derek sat up and took in the slack features of the male.

Skin so pale the only color Derek could see were the cute beauty marks, dark eyebrows and purple lips.

Wait, purple lips?

Shit, his savior seemed to be in need of saving.

Derek put his ear to the guy’s chest and although he detected a steady heartbeat, the lungs grated as they worked to draw breath.

Great.

Shifting his weight until he kneeled next to the body, Derek slapped the lax cheek. “Stiles, can you open your eyes?”

Derek had to admit the guy was a looker, at least when he wasn’t running his mouth. 

Eyelids slowly lifted to reveal golden brown eyes. What did his sister call large, brown eyes? Bambi eyes. Long, dark eyelashes matted with moisture fluttered up and down and Derek was smitten. 

Those eyes, the snub nose, high cheekbones, the long limbs…Derek had a physical type and this guy checked all of the boxes. 

Except for the sarcastic words that poured out of the pouty lips when Derek had met the guy on the cruise.

Stiles parted those pouty lips and croaked, “Derek, are you okay?”

That was…surprisingly sweet. Upon waking the human’s thoughts had been for the more durable werewolf.

“I think so. Thanks for getting me off of the boat and here…wherever here is.” Derek watched the human blink dazedly up at him and when a smile broke across the guy’s face, a dimple twinkled at him.

“You got between me and that asshole, of course I wasn’t about to leave you behind. I can protect myself you know but thanks for that.” The guy’s voice was cracked and low.

Derek pushed himself upright and made himself look away from the human lying at his feet. “Do you think you can walk? I think we need to get you out of the sun.”

Stiles grimaced. “I feel a little crispy. And salt covered. Sounds like a menu item. Ugh. Yeah, can you help me up?”

Stiles held out his hands and Derek took them carefully, slowly tugging the guy upward until he was sitting. The purple lips weren’t quite so purple but the human’s pallor was concerning and his lungs were making subtle but unhappy noises.

Werewolves weren’t immortal but they were a helluva lot less fragile than humans. 

Once Stiles stopped blinking rapidly he nodded his okay to continue onward and upward.

Derek gave a tug, misjudging the guy’s weight, and the human practically flew into his chest. Stiles’s knees gave and Derek found himself sheltering the man in his arms.

Beneath the salty ocean water smell Derek detected something citrusy and unique. Stiles’s scent was alluring but he needed to forget about scents and attractiveness and concentrate on getting the gutsy human to safety. It wouldn’t reflect well on the Hale pack if he let something happen to Scott McCall’s friend while under Derek’s protection.

“Come on, let me carry you for a while.” Derek didn’t ask for permission as he scooped the human into his arms.

“Not a damsel in distress,” Stiles wheezed his opinion but then he promptly passed out, proving he was, indeed, in distress.

Derek trudged toward the palm trees offering shade. He hoped this little island paradise had a fresh water supply because he was in need of hydration and so was his passenger.

Stiles’s head lolled down his arm and Derek shifted him higher on his chest and guided his face against his neck. He needed to get Stiles out of the sun, somewhere dry where he could warm him up and potable water was a must.

Piece of cake. Not.

Who the hell’s idea had it been to put a bunch of werewolves in the middle of the ocean anyway?

-0-

Stiles was miserable.

His clothing was damp and clung uncomfortably to his skin in the humidity but at the same time he was chilled.

Stiles blinked his eyes open and startled; someone was leaning over him.

“Skurwysyn!” Stiles’s blurted his favorite Polish curse, taught to him by his mother, hand pressed to his chest as he tried to recover from the shock of Derek Hale leaning into his personal space.

“Gesundheit?” Derek’s smart-assed reply normally would’ve amused Stiles but he was too busy trying to catch his breath.

Why was catching his breath so difficult?

“I brought you something to drink.” Derek held out a brown husk-like bowl and Stiles levered up on an elbow to take it.

Glancing down Stiles realized he was cradling half of a coconut. “Did I stumble into an episode of Gilligan’s Island?”

Derek’s eye roll was impressive. “Less commentary and more drinking. You’re dehydrated and you’re sadly mistaken if you think I’m going to lug your heavy ass around the island.”

“First, my ass isn’t heavy. It’s a fine, firm ass and I’ve never received any complaints about it. Second, I lugged your heavy ass across the ocean so you can suck it up, buttercup.” Stiles paused to pull in air.

Usually he would’ve enjoyed bantering with the very hot alpha towering over him but at the moment he felt too crappy to give it his all.

Derek’s heavy frown almost caused his eyebrows to form a uni-brow. On most people it would’ve been an unattractive look. Stiles doubted Derek Hale was capable of producing an unattractive look. 

“Hey, just sip it slowly.” Derek knelt down next to Stiles and cupped the hand cradling the coconut.

Huh. Stiles’s hand was shaking.

The other man helped guide the vessel to his lips and tilt it so Stiles could sip at the liquid. It resembled flavored water but Stiles couldn’t have identified what flavored it. He wasn’t certain he wanted to know anyway. It was wet and quenched his thirst.

Once he had his fill Derek removed the coconut from Stiles’s hand and set it down before lowering Stiles back to the ground. The werewolf put the back of his hand against Stiles’s forehead as though testing for a fever. His touch was cool and felt nice against his skin.

Stiles wanted to laugh at the perplexed expression on Derek’s face but he was too tired and had to settle for a smile.

“What?” Derek snatched his hand back and folded his arms over his chest. 

“Do you know what you’re checking for when you do that?” Stiles was tired and wanted to close his eyes but as usual, his brain was whirring away, collecting data, and he wanted to know about werewolves outside of Scott’s pack.

Werewolves could blush. At least Derek could blush. Interesting. And adorable. “My mom used to do that with the human members of our pack.”

Stiles was familiar with the Hale Pack, formerly of Beacon Hills. He knew about the tragic fire that claimed the lives of almost all of the Hales. 

He didn’t think Derek would appreciate his condolences so he settled for an explanation of werewolf and human biology. “Typically werewolves run two degrees warmer than a human’s normal body temperature. Your hand felt cooler to me so I’m guessing I have a fever. It’s probably around 100, maybe 101.”

Derek’s eyes widened and Stiles noticed they were a pretty hazel color. “What should I do?” The other guy tensed and Stiles had a sudden vision of Derek combusting in front of him. Stifling the urge to giggle, Stiles realized maybe his fever was higher than he’d thought.

“Unless you have an antibiotic I think we’re stuck waiting for someone to find us. You could write SOS or Help Me on the sand. Maybe look around the island and see if anyone else is here?” Stiles closed his eyes, giving in to the pervasive fatigue. 

Derek huffed. “I’m not leaving you alone.”

“I didn’t know you cared.” Stiles mumbled back. It was getting more and more difficult to stay awake.

“I don’t need to make an enemy out of Alpha McCall.” The werewolf declared.

Stiles reached out, eyes still closed, and patted at Derek’s arm. He might have connected with the guy’s arm. It could have been his thigh. Even his foot. “Scotty’s not going to hold anything against you. It’s his own damn fault for dragging me on this cruise. Who the hell thought putting a bunch of werewolves in the middle of the ocean was a good idea? He did.”

Sleep claimed Stiles before he heard Derek’s comeback. Just when things had been getting interesting, too.

-0-

Derek stared at the sick human. “That’s what I said.” 

He didn’t know if it was the infection running through Stiles’s body or what had changed but the other guy wasn’t nearly as obnoxious as he had been on the boat.

In fact, Derek found Stiles charming and funny. And cute. Maybe when this all blew over he could ask the guy out. 

First they had to find a way off of the island.

Derek realized Stiles had fallen asleep. Or he had passed out. How did Scott deal with hanging around such a fragile creature? Then again this fragile creature had towed Derek to safety.

The beach they’d woken up on was within walking distance and Derek would still be able to keep watch over Stiles from there. He stood up, brushed his hands off, and headed for the sand. Using his werewolf speed and a broken off palm frond, Derek wrote in huge letters both ‘SOS’ and ‘Help Me’ in the sand.

Darting back to the slumbering human, Derek was pleased to see Stiles looked undisturbed. He wanted to explore the island but his instincts screamed to protect his pack mate.

Pack mate?

Wow. Maybe he was more affected by the substance in the dart. Or the traumatic swim across the choppy water.

Something noisy crashed over the terrain, moving toward them, and Derek shifted without thought. This was no easy transition; his fangs and claws dropped between breaths and he was ready to defend his territory against interlopers in an instant.

“Stiles! Derek!” A loud voice boomed and birds Derek hadn’t even realized were in the vicinity screeched and flew into the sky.

Scott McCall. 

Despite recognizing the voice, Derek kept himself between the approaching bodies and the human behind him. 

“There you are, dude. Is Stiles with you? Oh no!” Scott shot forward and Derek tensed, keeping himself between the other alpha and Stiles.

“Derek?” Isaac, calling his name, settled Derek’s over-protective tendency and the shift receded.

Scott gave him a wide birth but made his way next to his friend’s side.

“What happened?” His beta looked between Derek and the guy on the ground.

“I was paralyzed by some weirdo on the boat and when the boat went up in flames, Stiles was able to keep us afloat until we ended up here. I think he’s sick now.” Derek’s explanation was stripped down beyond belief but he was still worried about the human and he didn’t like the idea of someone else touching him.

Turning his attention from Isaac to Scott, Derek watched as the other alpha softly patted the human’s cheek. “Stiles, buddy, wake up.”

“He has a fever and his lungs are congested. Can you do anything?” Derek approached and squatted down on the other side of Stiles. The human was both pale and flushed and he still looked appealing but his breathing was growing more labored. Derek wanted to knock the alpha’s hand away from the human but that was rude.

“My beta, Lydia, will know something is wrong and she’ll mobilize a rescue operation.” Scott looked up as though sensing Derek’s stare and he shrugged. “Lydia’s a banshee and can sense this kind of stuff so it shouldn’t be too long.”

“A banshee! Stiles isn’t going to die, is he?” Derek’s heart kicked up a notch. Okay, several notches. The thought of the plucky human dying didn’t sit well with Derek.

Scott gave Derek a strange look. “No, dude, Stiles is a fighter. We just need to keep him comfortable.”

Derek’s attention shifted back to Stiles. The human was frowning in his sleep. “I think he’s in pain.” He looked back up at Scott.

Shrugging, Scott stood back up. “I can’t take his pain. That was one of the first clues we had that he wasn’t going to be able to stay in the pack, at least not in the role he’d trained for.”

“The role he trained for?” Isaac’s voice was uncomfortably close to Derek’s ear. He hadn’t heard his beta moving closer and that was a rookie mistake Derek couldn’t afford. Not that he distrusted Isaac, he totally did, but he couldn’t let his guard down. Ever. 

The last time he’d let down his guard his family had paid with their lives.

“Oh yeah, Stiles was going to be my emissary but we think because we’re best friends the bond won’t take. He gives me suggestions and I end up disregarding them because I flash back to the time he thought he was Superman, launched himself off his roof, and broke his arm.” Scott rubbed the back of his neck. “The crazy thing is Stiles is awesome and he knows his shit. We thought if we could find a pack to co-exist in our territory he could still be an emissary, the pack would gain a trusted ally and Stiles and me would still be best friends.”

Derek couldn’t decide if Scott was naïve or a genius.

“Stilinski is an emissary?” Isaac’s voice was filled with doubt. 

“He’s trained with a druid, a mage and a pharmacist. He’s also a spark.” Scott took great pride in making this announcement.

It was well placed pride. Sparks were exceedingly rare. “You have a spark in your pack?”

“Pack adjacent? This whole bond thing is a pain in the ass. I mean he’s my best friend and the bond just won’t take.” Scott’s attention turned toward the beachfront. “Right on time. I think our rescue has arrived.”

Derek scooped Stiles into his arms and rose to his feet. Scott and Isaac both stared at him, openmouthed.

“Stiles needs medical help right away.” Derek shouldered past them and headed toward the water, trudging through his sand message.

He wasn’t sure what to make of Scott’s news.

Derek needed an emissary to stabilize and protect his pack. Stiles was an emissary looking for a pack but he had ties to Beacon Hills and didn’t want to leave it. Derek had ties to Beacon Hills.

The boat exploding—Derek had forgotten to ask for details about that whole situation—just might have turned into a serendipitous, and beneficial, encounter.

-0-

Stiles felt much better the next time he stirred. The elephant had moved off of his chest and had been replaced by a much more manageable pressure.

Something tickled beneath his nose and Stiles absently scratched at it. He opened his eyes and almost went cross-eyed trying to get a look at the offending device. Ugh. A nasal cannula. 

“Are you okay? Can I get you some water?”

Stiles’s neck swiveled slowly and he found the very pleasant sight of Derek Hale sitting next to his bed.

He parted his lips, intending to respond, and only succeeded in emitting a dry cough.

A straw gently pushed between his lips and Stiles sucked contentedly at the cool liquid.

Derek made a noise and Stiles opened his eyes—he didn’t realize he’d closed them—to find the other man blushing again.

Stiles pulled back from the straw. “Um, sorry. I sort of have an oral fixation and got carried away.”

The werewolf set the cup down on a tray table before rubbing a hand over his face. 

Stiles recognized that gesture; he’d managed to aggravate the other guy and it wasn’t fair because he hadn’t even been trying.

Shifting to find a more comfortable position, Stiles lightly rubbed at his chest with the hand not filled with needles and clips.

“Are you in pain?” Derek’s tone was solicitous which was weird because just moments ago he’d seemed aggravated. 

“It’s much better than before.” Stiles shrugged. 

Derek slowly reached out and covered the hand Stiles had clutched over his chest. He cleared his throat, partially to get Derek’s attention and partially because it felt like there was something caught in it. “Oh, that won’t…huh. You can take my pain?”

Stiles fumbled for the bed controls and raised the head of the bed. He didn’t like being at such a disadvantage, flat on his back with Derek leaning over him especially since there was no sex involved, and he suddenly had a million questions that needed answering.

“How did you do that?” Perhaps Stiles wasn’t at his most eloquent but this, the absence of pain, felt absolutely amazing.

It had been so long since a werewolf had been able to siphon away his pain. Then again the only werewolf he would allow that close to him was Scotty and the whole lack of alpha-emissary bond thing had put the kibosh to that.

“It looks like we have a compatible bond.” Derek’s voice seemed deeper than before. 

Was it getting warmer in here? Maybe it was the other guy’s proximity to him—he was touching Stiles—that was revving up his engine.

Stiles took a deep breath. “Do you know why Scotty and I were on that cruise?”

“Scott told me about it when he and Isaac found us on the island.” Derek’s thumb was swiping over his skin where they made contact and it was very distracting.

“Wait. Scott is okay? The rest of your pack made it off of the boat, too?” Stiles felt momentary guilt at not having inquired about everyone upon waking up.

Then again he was sick enough to be in a hospital—the smell of bleach was a dead giveaway—so he was going to blame his fuzziness on that.

“Everyone, including the idiot who hit me with the kanima venom, made it to safety. You were the only casualty.” The incessant rubbing of skin on skin was doing things to Stiles’s focus. The contact was both relaxing and galvanizing.

Derek leaned closer. “I want to thank you again for getting me to safety. Even if your choice in music was suspect.”

“I’ll have you know I was running through my mom’s catalog of music. You’re not allowed to disparage her.” Stiles crinkled his nose. Everyone gave him crap over his playlist. 

“I guess it wasn’t so bad. I mean you have a nice voice.” The other man smiled.

Stiles just about gave himself whiplash when he angled his face so he could better stare into Derek’s twinkling eyes. He took a moment to admire the prominent front teeth and cute overbite.

Shaking himself from the attraction he was sliding into, Stiles gnawed on his lower lip. “What exactly are you saying?”

“Emissary Stilinski, the Hale Pack would like to court you. We are willing to relocate to Beacon Hills and join in a treaty with Scott McCall’s Pack. Will you consider our suit?” The speech was very formal yet seemed to fit the occasion.

Tears might have leaked from the corner of Stiles’s eyes but he was going to blame that on being sick, too.

“I accept your suit.”

Stiles was enveloped in strong arms.

He felt safe and secure, probably for the first time since his mom had passed away.

One paralyzed werewolf, one shipwreck and one infection later Stiles had to concede maybe Scotty’s idea to put a bunch of werewolves on the ocean wasn’t so stupid after all.

Not that he was going to tell Scotty that. He didn’t want his friend to get a fat head.

Stiles leaned into Derek’s warmth. The beginnings of a pack bond stirred.

 

 

Finis

**Author's Note:**

> The hurt/comfort prompt for this fic was shipwrecked. I do so enjoy a bantering Derek and Stiles and I hope you did as well.
> 
> Thank you for reading!


End file.
